Accepting
by I'mgoingtoHogwarts
Summary: His shoulders hung down, his head was bowed, and his whole position made her feel grief by every step she took. When he finally looked at her, she gasped. Emptiness, sorrow, disbelief, grief, despair, guilt, he was a totally different person.


_Hi there! The lines between some of the paragraphs are there because it's a change of point of view. At the first it's Hermione, then there's George, but you'll understand when it's about one of them or both... Yeah, enjoy._

**Accepting**

It was dark, in fact it was midnight. The summer night air was soothing, and it was all so quiet. She sat up in her bed, and looked over to the one year younger girl in the other bed, who was snoring softly. A smile tugged at her lips. Quickly, and ever so quietly she pulled back the covers, and tip-toed out of the room. She shut the door slowly behind her, before making her way down the stairs, walking swiftly in her white night gown, her wand held up in front of her for light.

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><p>He was standing in the dark, in the garden. He listened to the peaceful sound of wind blowing in the top branches of the trees. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs with air, before slowly, with a slightly shaky breath, breathing out. It hurt. Everything hurt. It hurt to breath, to speak, to live. Because how could he live, when his purpose of living was gone? The last days, or had it been weeks, he had lived as a ghost. His bright orange hair hung in front of his eyes, and he wore worn pyjamas. He heard one of the stairs inside creaking. He closed his eyes.<p>

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><p>The door was open. Hermione wondered if anyone else was awake at this time. She walked towards the door and peered out, feeling the cool air hit her skin. Someone was already there. Hermione walked out as though she had all the time in the world towards him, which she in fact had. Fame and glory had taken care of that. Hermione watched the outline of the person she was approaching. His shoulders hung down, his head was bowed, and his whole position made her feel grief by every step she took.<p>

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><p>George felt a small, warm hand on his shoulder, but didn't startle. He had heard her come down the stairs and approached him, but he hadn't made any sign of knowing she was there. "George," she had whispered, as if afraid to break the spell of the atmosphere that hung over them. She took a step forward, and looked at his face. He had been staring into nothingness for quite a good while now, but he reluctantly tore his gaze away from it, and met her eyes.<p>

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><p>Hermione was met by empty eyes. Eyes who held no emotion. She whispered his name again, truly concerned about what was going to happen to him. Hermione didn't know why, but it was now, at this moment, when she needed to be there, he needed someone to be there with him when he finally learned, <em>accepted<em>, the truth. She brought her hand from his shoulder down to his hand, and led him towards the old, dilapidated bench, and but didn't sit down.

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><p>He struggled. George wasn't going to cry, because what did he have to cry over? His twin brother, his best friend, his soul mate was, after all, was not de-... No, he wasn't gone. It wasn't true. George felt the girl's hand on his arm. "George... George, you can't keep on living like this, because this, this isn't living. You need to accept what has happened, you need to accept that he's not physically here... But he'll always be with us somehow, just..." Still no reaction... physically, but mentally, oh how his brain was working on this, his head spinning. Everyone told him it was over, that he was... George couldn't feel him anymore, but still, he couldn't be... It was impossible. "Look at me George, look at me... He is dead. Fred is dead."<p>

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><p>Hermione hated to do this to him, say it, but it was already done, and she once again begged him to look at her. When he did, Hermione almost gasped. Emptiness, sorrow, disbelief, grief, despair, guilt, he was a totally different person. He showed her all the opposite emotions of what he had been, what <em>they<em> had been. Hermione felt tears streak down her face, but he didn't cry. She didn't know how. Hermione brought her hands up to his face, and stroke his cheek, and moved a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." She cried, and stroke his face like he was the one crying.

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><p>It was a slow process, but when he had a crying witness in front of him, who could tell him nothing but the truth, realisation slowly dawned for him. Step by step his brain pieced together the reality, though ever so slowly. "But his not gone," he said, his voice surprisingly strong as it sounded through the night. "Fred isn't..." this time his voice broke and he could feel stinging in his eyes, a lump in his throat. For the first time it seemed like George noticed Hermione was there. He looked directly at her, a pained expression on his face.<p>

"Hermione, he can't... I can't, it's me and Fred, but he's... not," Hermione didn't know what to do, so she just held his hand, and was there for him. "George-" Hermione said quietly, not really knowing what to say. He suddenly drew in a deep breath, and he started to sob."Oh, George," Hermione flung her arms around his neck, as he started to cry. He clung to her as if she was his life, and he sobbed hard into her hair. It was killing her to see him like this, and she couldn't imagine what it felt like for him. Tears ran down her cheeks, as she held him close.

This was the first time George had cried since... since the battle. This was the moment he finally accepted his brother's... his brother's death. "George, you're not alone, we're here for you... I'm here for you," Hermione whispered again and again, not knowing if it made any difference, or if he even heard her.

But he did. And it was the promise that he wasn't alone that made him look down at the petite witch in his arms. "Hermione," he said without any intentions to say anything more, and sat down on the grey bench.

"Yes, George," she answered back, knowing that that no more words was to be spoken. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, and leaned her head on his shoulder. He held her closely wrapped in his arms, needing to know she was there. There for him.

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><p>She woke up with a sore neck, and for some brief seconds she wondered where she was. Then she looked at the person next to her. His hand was laying in her lap, and she took it. The morning was still early, and it was still dew on the grass, and cool, soft air. A movement from the person beside her made her turn her attention towards him instead of the grass. He sat up straight, groaned and scratched his neck with his free hand. He peered through his half open eyes before looking directly at her. Slowly, a little smile spread over his lips, it was a pained smile, a sad smile, but he was trying, he was going to heal. "Morning," he said, and she laughed out of relief. He was slowly accepting, not ever forgetting, but mending.<p>

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><p><strong>AN: **Sooo... what do you think? I'm not entirely sure if I think it's good or not, but it's up to you to decied! Please, please review and tell me what you think! Thanks.


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